


The Distraction

by BellatrixLives



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Manip, Teasing, story based on a manip i made
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9534293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixLives/pseuds/BellatrixLives
Summary: Molly is fed up with being ignored and decides to take a stand. Well, take a seat... in the middle of 221B Baker Street in nothing but her lingerie.





	

 

“Molly, I really can’t concentrate when you do that,” Sherlock sighs, trying to ignore the milky expanse of her bare skin.

“Do what, Sherlock?” She asks, feigning innocence.

“You know  _what.”_

_“_ I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Molly gathers her hair out of the way and rolls her neck slowly, and Sherlock can’t tear his eyes away from the graceful outline she creates. 

Flawless beauty standing out brazenly against the mess that surrounds her. The mess Sherlock made while working on his current case.

“Ignorance does not suit you, Miss Hooper,” Sherlock tells her. “You are deliberately trying to distract me by disrobing in the living room. Perhaps you could move along to the bedroom?”

“I just couldn’t make it, that dress was dreadfully uncomfortable,” she insists. “Sorry, dear, I had no intention of interrupting your work. You made it abundantly clear just how important it was earlier when you refused to attend Bart’s Charity Auction with me.”

She slowly extends her leg and bends over to begin sliding her hosiery off. The silhouette the curve of her back creates calls out to him, begging to be caressed.  

Sherlock tries to delve into his mind palace, but the only doors that open to him are ones containing memories of  _his_  hands removing her lingerie. 

“Molly,” he tries again, but the words die in his throat.

Now she’s standing, facing him with one foot braced up on the stool as she removes her other stocking.

“Hmm?”

When she looks up and sees his hungry expression she bats her lashes and licks her lips.

“Now, now, Sherlock. Don’t get any ideas. You have a very urgent case to deal with, remember? The one about the disappearing circus? What year did it disappear again?” she asks, tapping a finger on her chin. “Oh, yes, 1748. Best hurry up on that one. Wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

“I told you from the beginning that if we were to give  _us_  a try my dedication to my work would not waiver. You knew what you were signing up for,” Sherlock says, attempting to sound stern and avoiding (and failing) watching Molly.

“I know. I do understand. But there is a difference between a life and death scenario brought to you by a client and an old wives tale _you’ve_ plucked from a history book!”

Sherlock remains silent. Partly because he knows she’s right, and partly because he’s far too distracted by the way Molly is stretching, extending her arms above her head and perched on tiptoes. 

She sighs breathlessly, and he has to stop himself from marching across the room and throwing her onto the couch to ravish her.

“Molly,” he says finally, preparing to defend himself.

All train of thought is derailed as he watches her slowly run her hands down her stomach and hips, smoothing her garter belt before she reaches behind her waist to unclasp it. 

He can’t stop the animalistic groan that rises in his throat.

“Molly,” he breathes, rising to his feet and crossing the room in three steps. “You’re right. I am sorry.”

He grasps her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger and tilts her face up to look at him.

Her big brown eyes, like pools of warm chocolate pull him in and he’s lost.

“I am so sorry. I was being extremely selfish and I truly don’t deserve someone as exquisite and...  _forgiving_  as you.”

Molly can’t help but smirk at Sherlock.

“No,” she sighs, “you really don’t.”

And with that she stretches up onto her tiptoes once more and places a firm kiss on his lips, which he returns passionately without hesitation. 

When they finally break away, both short of breath, with desire dancing in their eyes, Sherlock is the first to speak.

“So, about the bedroom, Miss Hooper...”


End file.
